Lord Byron (1788–1824)

THOUGH the day of my destiny’s over,

And the star of my fate hath declined,

Thy soft heart refused to discover

The faults which so many could find.

Though human, thou didst not deceive me;

Though woman, thou didst not forsake;

Though loved, thou foreborest to grieve me;

Though slandered, thou never couldst shake.

Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me;

Though parted, it was not to fly;

Though watchful, ’twas not to defame me,

Nor mute that the world might belie.

In the desert a fountain is springing,

In the wild waste there still is a tree,

And a bird in the solitude singing,

Which speaks to my spirit of thee.